Magic
by Pegasus M
Summary: I'm just a street performer. One shot, for Laelyn24's Summer Story Challenge.


**Title:** Magic  
**Rating:** K  
**Summary:** I'm just a street performer. One shot, for Laelyn24's Summer Challenge.

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**Magic**

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I do magic tricks.

Some people make a living by writing, or saving lives, making big decisions, putting parts together, adding numbers, teaching, keeping records, cooking, mixing solutions, inventing. I make a living performing "illusions." That's just fancy talk for "pulling a fast one on ya."

Every morning I set off for Central Park and, right by the reservoir, I arrange my modest wooden table, throw an old sheet over it, and proceed to fool people's eyes. I spend hours standing outside like that, summer or winter, because this is what I love doing. Sure, I could be doing something more productive, go the utilitarian route just like most others. It's an uncertain life, this busking business. But, then—

Eh, some kids these days. They reach a certain age and all their imagination and wonder dry up, shrivel up into brittle things, disintegrate into dust and vanish into thin air, with jadedness and skepticism taking their place. Shame. But I guess that's what happens when you grow up next to the grime of New York City.

Sound a little cynical? Sorry about that. Just had some pompous young fella come up to me and grab my arm, shaking at my sleeve, like I'm some amateur or cheat that would keep cards hidden there. Ah-ha, just recognized his face. I guess he has a right to be a little upset—I managed to swipe a grand total of three dollars from him yesterday when I—part of my act, see—bet I could blindly pick out the card of his choice from a deck.

Not my fault that he took a gamble. Repeatedly.

I shouldn't rag on him too much. After all, guys like that are the reason I can pay the bills. There ain't much money to be had when your typical audience is comprised of street kids, factory workers, bootblacks. I do catch the attention of a lot of those high class types, too, especially in the spring, when couples go for a stroll in the early evening. The looks of merry amazement on their faces… that's what I live for. And then if I'm lucky, I get the real charitable type visiting my humble little stand, tossing a hefty amount of spare change into my hat.

But obviously, I don't do this for the money.

If I'm truly lucky, I get a spectator like the one running up to me right now.

"Wow, real magic!" the boy exclaimed, absently slamming down several copies of the afternoon edition of _The World_. "Can you do that one again?" he requested excitedly.

"Sure, kid." I repeated the multiplying coin trick for him. It was one of the simplest tricks in the book. Just took a half dollar and made two quarters out of it. There isn't much to it when you know the secret—that all three coins were in my hands the entire time.

The boy stared hard at the quarters. "I wish I could do that. Looks more fun than sellin' papes!"

The kid didn't look any older than ten. His face and hands were stained with newspaper ink. The shirt he had on had patches sewn on haphazardly at the shoulder and elbows. Looking at a kid like him, it wasn't hard to determine this was a tough city to grow up in.

"Hey, you got a good magic trick with cards?"

I shrugged nonchalantly, grabbing the deck from my back pocket. "How's this one for ya: pick a card. That's right, any card from the deck. You got it? Don't show it to me, you just take a good look at that. You remember what your card is, right? All right, I'm going to give this a good shuffle here. There we go... now put your card back anywhere in the deck. Great job, kid. All right, give this another good shuffle. Tap, tap. Ah, what've we got here? King of spades—look familiar to you?"

The boy's eyes widened in surprise and he grinned from ear to ear. See, that look right there: that's what keeps me going. That's what keeps me coming back to Central Park with my table, my raggedy sheet, and my hat. So what if what I do isn't really magic in one of them fancy theaters, or if what I do doesn't save lives or make a lick of a difference in the world. There isn't anything better in the world than seeing that look of joy and awe on a kid's face, and knowing that you just gave them something worth smiling about in this grim city.

"Can you teach me how to do that?" he asked, pleading.

Cute kid. "What's your name?" Francis, he answered. "Well, Francis, rule number one of magic: a good magician never reveals his secrets," I said, pointing a finger for dramatic emphasis. Eh, what the heck. The kid looked so earnest. "But I'll tell you how to do a real simple one. This is just between you and me, all right? You can keep a secret, can't ya?"

The boy nodded vigorously and leaned in over the table. I taught him the coin drop, a magic trick staple. It's a real simple one—aren't they all when you know the secret behind them?—but, for all its simplicity, a heck of a lot of practice is necessary to make this trick believable.

He gave it a few awkward tries, and he promised he would practice the trick every night—"in secret," he whispered furtively—back at the Newsboys Lodging House.

"Glad to hear it," I said, impressed. Pausing for effect, I added, "So that'll be two bits for the lesson."

Francis looked up and gaped. "Sorry, sir, but… I don't got two bits."

"Yes, you do," I said, gesturing behind his ear. "What's this here?" From the kid's viewpoint, it appeared as though I conjured a quarter out of thin air. I flipped the coin towards him with my thumb. "Keep the change," I told him, as I picked up one of the papers he scattered all over my table.

He brightened at the unexpected trick and paper sale. "When I grow up, I wanna do the same thing you do," he said happily, "and be the best magician in the city. No, in the country. In the world!"

I couldn't help but chuckle. Did ya hear that? I just inspired this kid to have a dream. I may be a lowly busker—not a doctor, or a teacher, or a governor, or a chef, or an engineer or inventor—but even someone like me could inspire and affect another's life. Just with a few sleights of the hands and a deck of cards.

Now that's real magic.

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**Author's Note:** … and that's how Francis Sullivan became Jack Kelly, and Jack Kelly became Alfred Borden. ;) Written in a rush to meet the deadline for Laelyn's Summer Story Challenge! Hope you enjoyed!


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